


Cupid's Demanding Back His Arrow

by SOMETHINREAL



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Angst, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Jaehyungparkian, M/M, Smoking, brian is edgy and hates commitment, jae is kind of a stoner, mentions of getting high, mentions of under age sex, mentions of weed, no actual weed smoking though, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 23:18:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14412636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SOMETHINREAL/pseuds/SOMETHINREAL
Summary: It had been different tonight. It wasn’t what they normally did-- wasn’t just a quick fuck in the shitty motel room, it was softer than that, more tender, and Brian hasn’t got the slightest fucking clue why it feels that way.(alternatively: the one where jaebri have loved each other for years but brian's not good with commitment and jae's just tired).





	Cupid's Demanding Back His Arrow

**Author's Note:**

> okay okay it's tagged as underage sex but ?? the age of consent where this is set is literally 13 if the person is at most four years older so idk. i didn't actually write them fucking and brian was nearly seventeen anyways which is the actual age of consent in ny state so i don't think it counts but it's just kind of implied anyways  
> also they're a mess just like me and by extension this fic i love jaehyungparkian they're endgame

Brian doesn’t know if he can necessarily deem himself a runaway. He’s legal, got his own apartment, there’s nothing for him to be running away from, besides the society that so desperately tries to put him in a box. Perhaps he’s less of a runaway and more of someone who just can’t stand being in the same place for more than one time, but Brian’s not a wanderlust, just someone who wants to be anywhere but home. He hates being confined, hates having to follow the rules, so he takes his shitty pickup out of town for days at a time until he has to come back to make some more money. Then he leaves again. It's a process he's been working on for a while. 

This time, he’s at some cheap motel just outside of The Bronx that he’d found the night before. It’s got a sign that flickers and was completely vacant until Brian showed up. There’s a pool that Brian won’t dare go near, for the fear that he’ll somehow get some kind of terminal disease, because he knows that the last time the pool was cleaned was months, maybe years ago. His room is number three, his lucky number, and he’s sitting on a bed with faded floral sheets when a text comes through his phone. 

_ Bribri. You busy? _

It’s Jae. Brian already knew that it was Jae before he’d even seen it, because he’s got a special text-tone for each of the people that he talks to regularly (which, admittedly, is not many). He’s never busy for Jae. 

_ Nah, _ he sends.  _ I’m at a motel. Come by.  _ He sends the address alongside his text and receives an  _ omw  _ from Jae. 

They have a bit of a peculiar relationship. They’re not friends and they’ve not lovers, but they’re not definitely strangers or acquaintances either. They fuck occasionally wherever Brian’s deciding to spend the night and then have some deep conversation about things like whether or not there’s really a God and if so, why has the world gone to shit? He and Jae sometimes hang out when Brian’s not busy being the edgy teenager he’d never let go of wanting to be despite now being well over twenty-three years old, meet up for burgers or ramen or coffee from that place that Jae says is too expensive but always ends up ordering the most costly drink from. They aren’t even friends with benefits, that’s a commitment too, and Brian doesn’t like commitment. They’re just people. Jae’s just the person that he knows like the back of his hand but ends up texting at three in the morning when he’s lonely or three in the afternoon when he’s hungry and wants someone to cause trouble with. 

Their relationship has always been like this. Since they were teenagers back in the prestigious (read: shitty) boarding school that Brian’s step-father had recommended putting him in for all the trouble he caused within the halls and classrooms back at the third school he’d been transferred to, so maybe he’d finally pull his shit together and man up. It just seemed to get worse once he’d met Jae. They’d hit it off instantly, Jae’d pointed out the pins and patches on his bag (MCR, M83, Sufjan Stevens, The 1975, and, respectively, Biggie Smalls, which he prided himself in matching with his bumper sticker that read:  _ IT WUZ ALL A DREAM _ ), and proudly showed Brian his extensive music collection on his little iPod Nano in bright blue (an incredibly Jae thing, Brian would come to learn within the next few minutes). His iPod had everything from indie rock to 80’s pop and folk to 90’s rap and even some  _ Golden Oldies _ as he’d called them (Frank Sinatra, The Temptations, The Who, Bob Dylan), and it was just about the most Jae thing he’d ever seen in his life, and he’d only known him for twenty minutes. From that point on, Jae became his close friend/partner in crime/the guy whom he often blew in the boy’s washrooms or the back corner of the library where nobody ever went. 

They terrorized the halls yet somehow managed to keep their grades up, even though they spent more time getting high on the floor of Jae’s dorm or fucking in Brian’s bed while his roommate was out than they did actually studying for their respective classes. Jae’s dad was filthy rich and probably paid the school to keep his grades up, Brian was just lucky. Or unlucky, depending on the day. 

They didn’t go to college together, but they’d still met up every Wednesday and Friday and every other Sunday to eat together or have sex or run around town doing things that adults shouldn’t be doing or occasionally, all three. Jae graduated before Brian did, being older and all (Brian, as a child was a surprisingly good, intelligent kid. He was only in the same grade as Jae because they’d thought he was so smart that he bypassed junior kindergarten and went straight to senior), but that was okay, because it meant even more opportunities to fuck around in between Brian’s classes that he couldn’t afford to miss, no matter how badly he wanted to run around the back by the dumpsters and light up a joint. 

That brings them to today. Brian’s at a motel outside The Bronx that charges a flat rate of twenty bucks per night, waiting for Jae to knock on his door, where they’ll most probably fuck and then risk drinking the soda that the motel has stashed in the mini-fridge, talk about being sad or books or a figurative God or how Jae’s doing with music. 

Jae’s a musician, or, an  _ aspiring  _ musician. He plays little shows at clubs and bars and has sent in demos to record labels but no one’s seemed to pick him up yet. Brian thinks that it’s really their loss. Back when they were teenagers, and they’d get high in Jae’s dorm, sometimes Jae would pick up the guitar that he had tucked under his bed and play Brian a few of the songs that he’d written, with enough prodding that is. Jae never liked playing for him, never thought he was good enough, that his writing was shitty and that he should give up, but Brian had sat outside of his door and listened to him sing his heart out more times than he could count. Brian knows damn well that this is not true. He’s never told Jae about these times, because he thinks that it was invasive of him to listen to something Jae was so ashamed or scared or bashful--  _ whatever  _ about. Jae still doesn’t really like singing in front of Brian, but it’s okay. Brian goes to his shows without telling him, stays back in the corner so Jae can’t see him in the crowd, watches him look so happy up on stage, singing his heart out, covering Adam Levine and The Fray and even performing some of his own songs. Brian will  _ never  _ tell him this. Ignorance is bliss. 

Jae arrives to room number three at the Star Motel at eleven minutes past nine, knocking quietly at the door once he does. When Brian opens it, Jae’s in his usal Jae attire, baggy clothes, fluffy blond hair, a pair of his  _ comfort-zone _ glasses, all of which he hides behind. He’s always been taller than Brian, and he’s especially taller now that he’d sporting a pair of Dr. Martens and Brian’s barefoot, but he just tips his head up and smiles at Jae anyways. 

They sit down on the bed, Brian asks Jae how he’s been, as they haven’t seen each other for a few days. The first little bit before they decide if they’re going to fuck or just talk is always a little awkward and lengthy, even though they’ve been doing this for years. 

“I’ve been okay,” he says, tucking his feet under him. “I played a show the other night. Turn out was pretty good. Some dude came up to me and gave his card, which is good I think. He works for some small record label set up somewhere in downtown New York. I haven’t called in yet but I will eventually.” And Brian knows that Jae had a show, because he’d been there, watching him from the corner, nursing a glass of whiskey, grinning inwardly at the liveliness Jae only shows on stage. If all of the people knew, Brian had thought, that he was a bookworm/insomniac/introvert that prefers being completely submerged in blanket than being in public. They wouldn’t have believed it from how he was acting up there. It was almost refreshing for Brian to see, because Jae spends more time worrying over trivial things than he does actually living his life. 

“The Big Apple, huh? That’s fucking great, Jae,” Brian tells him. “You deserve to make it big, you know. You have the talent  _ and  _ the look. You just need the recognition.” 

Jae laughs awkwardly. “I have  _ neither  _ of those things.”

Brian almost slaps his across the face. But he doesn’t, because that’s not very nice. “You’re kidding, right?” he asks in disbelief.

“I mean--”

“You’re trying to tell me that you’re not talented  _ and  _ you’re unattractive?” Jae just kinda purses his lips and shrugs a little. “Jae, you’re kidding  _ yourself _ ,” he says, “you have such an amazing voice, and you can play the guitar better than anyone, and you’re so good looking, with your blond hair and your eyes and weird fashion sense. Don’t try to lie to my face like that.” 

Jae groans, cheeks flushed, flicking Brian in the bicep. “Stop,” he says. “Shut up and kiss me.” Brian doesn’t hesitate to comply. It’s all a flurry of hands and kisses and groans from here on out. Brian can hardly comprehend how it always escalates so fast, even if tonight they go slow, doesn’t know how he always ends up with Jae’s nails scratching it his back or rolling his hips down into Jae’s lap with his arms wrapped lazily around Jae’s shoulders, but he knows that this is where he wants to be forever, even if forever’s not enough.

 

-

 

“I need a smoke,” Brian says suddenly; they’re still in the ratty old motel bed. Jae’s got nothing on but his oversized hoodie and boxers, where Brian’s the opposite, only in the joggers he’d been wearing beforehand. He doesn’t put a shirt on after he digs around in his bag for the half-through pack of cigarettes he knows he’s got stashed in there. He can hear Jae moving around in the bed but he doesn’t turn to look. He walks out the door, leaves it slightly ajar so that he doesn’t have to knock for Jae to open it after, lights up his cigarette, takes a drag. It burns his throat a little but a wave of calmness washes over him. He relishes in the feeling as he lets the smoke press past his lips. 

It’s a bad habit he’d picked up with Jae; shared his first cigarette with him the day after they’d smoked their pivotal first joint together. It was when they still attended that stupid boarding school; they were sitting on the floor of the shower in Brian’s (and his roommate, Dowoon’s, who was out, as per usual) dorm room, because they knew that the smoke wouldn’t reach the fire alarms from where they were. Their knees were touching in the small space, Brian’s clad in a pair of ripped black jeans, the ones he often sported on the weekends when uniforms weren’t mandatory, Jae’s bare from where his pyjama shorts rode up on his pale thighs. Jae was already eighteen and Brian was a month away from seventeen. They lit a cigarette between the two of them, Jae taking the first drag and Brian the second, both scowling and keeping in a cough as the smoke sat in their lungs for a moment. It wasn’t bad, though it wasn’t good either. In the end Brian had kept up the habit, but Jae had been more of a habitual weed smoker, so it balanced out. 

Brian leans up against the wall of the motel, exposed brick scratching at his back a little bit, but he’s sure it’s already red anyways from where Jae had scratched earlier in the evening. He puffs out a few smoke rings, something Jae had taught him to do years ago, leans his head against the wall, eyes locked on the overhang, the flickering light which attracts moths and flies and mosquitos and God knows what else. He swears that he can hear a sniffle, then his name, within the motel room, through the little crack where the door’s ajar, but he brushes it off, too focused on mellowing out his head to really have the heart to care. Or, maybe, to have the heart to care _ less .  _

It had been different tonight. It wasn’t what they normally did-- wasn’t just a quick fuck in the cheap motel, it was softer than that, more tender, and Brian hasn’t got the slightest fucking clue why it feels like that. Never before has Brian kissed Jae the way he had tonight, never held onto him so tight, never felt that close to him. It’s almost like they really weren’t fucking, like they were  _ making love _ instead. But that doesn’t make any sense. You have to be in love with someone to make love to them, and Brian doesn’t-- can’t love Jae. It doesn’t make sense. There’s no love, it’s just sex and friendship, that’s always how it’s been. So why did it feel so different tonight? Had Jae felt that too?

He goes back in after he smokes another cigarette to its filter, flicks it into the parking lot near the tire of his shitty used pick-up. When he walks into the room, Jae’s sitting cross-legged in the middle of the queen, looking tinier than Brian’s ever seen him in his big sweater, hair still messy from the sex, cheeks still flushed. His eyes are a bit red behind his glasses, like he’s been crying, and maybe Brian  _ had  _ heard right, but he can’t bring himself to reason with why. Really, he _knows_ why, he knows that they’d done things differently, knows that Jae’s upset, but he can’t let Jae know he knows. Can’t let Jae know he feels the same. 

“Bri--” Jae tries to force out, but it’s wobbly, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Brian,” he says, “what are we doing?”

Brian says nothing as he tosses his lighter and smokes into his duffle bag, moves to sit at the foot of the bed. “What do you mean?” he asks, and he knows, but he doesn’t want it to change, he doesn’t know how he can make things change, he isn’t ready. 

“When are we going to stop this, Bri?” Jae asks him. Brian looks straight ahead at the peeling wallpaper. “When are we going to stop pretending that we’re just friends?” 

“We  _ are  _ just friends,” Brian insists, and it’s not true, he knows from the bottom of his heart that it’s not true but he’s not ready. 

“No,” Jae says, and Brian can tell that he’s shaking his head. “Just-friends don’t do what we do. We stopped being just-friends the first time you kissed me.” They stopped being just-friends when Jae had come up to him on that first day and spoke like a prophecy, stopped being just friends when Brian realized why his heart sped up every time he saw Jae smile, stopped being just friends when Brian started showing up to Jae’s shows without telling him because he just wants to see Jae be happy and live for once. They stopped being just friends years ago. 

“Why tonight?” Brian asks. It could have been years ago, when commitment didn’t scare Brian nearly as much as it did now. It could have been the day back in school on the second last day before summer break when they skipped calculus to climb up to the roof and watch The Fresh Prince while eating the M&M’s Jae’d bought from the vending machines that looked misplaced in the dining hall. He could have brought this up when they were still young and carefree, when Brian didn’t feel like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Why tonight?

“Because tonight you didn’t just have sex with me, Brian. We both know that, so please don’t act as if everything is just the same as it always is.” 

And he knows, he knows that they hadn’t fucked, they’d made love, and knows that only people who were in love made love, and that by default that meant that he loves Jae, and also knows that he’s known this since he was seventeen years old. He knows that it’s different, knows that things are changing, knows that _he_ can’t change that, because as much as he tries to force it away, he wants this too much, has wanted this since the first time that they’d ever gotten high and kissed on the mouth, since Jae made him play singles badminton, then let him win, because he was a newbie, since they’d frequented the cheap cafe just down the street of Jae’s apartment that sells their favourite iced americano and caramel macchiatos. 

“Did you mean it?” Jae asks, and Brian can hear the hurt in his voice. 

“Fuck, Jae, of course I meant it. I just-- you know that I don’t do this.” 

“Do what?” Jae asks, and it’s almost fucking sarcastic. “Fall in love?”

Brian still stares ahead of himself, his own eyes blurring at the edges, though he won’t lose his resolve. “Yes,” he says. “I don’t commit, I don’t do this, you know I don’t, and now that I have I don’t know what to do.” 

“Look at me.” Brian glances at him out of the corner of his eye and can see that Jae’s got his lips pursed and is playing aimlessly with the string of his hoodie. “Properly.” Brian slowly turns his head, fighting back the sigh that feels so heavy in his chest. “What do you suggest we do?” Jae asks, “forget that this ever happened? Act like I don’t love you and you don’t love me so that we can stick to being just friends, even though it’s going to suck ass?” 

“Yes,” Brian says before he can think it through. “ _ No _ , fuck, Jae. I don’t fucking know.” 

“We don’t have to label it,” Jae says, and Brian can hear that he’s scared when he speaks, and Brian’s scared too; scared that he’ll fuck up somehow with his words, say something stupid that’ll make Jae leave, or worse, lose Jae permanently. “I just-- I don’t want to pretend anymore, Bri. I’m so sick of meeting up with you and kissing you and pretending like it doesn’t make me feel lightheaded, or that when you ask me out to dinner that it’s just another hang out and not a date. I’m tired of acting like this means nothing when it means more than I can put into words.”

“So what do you want me to do?” Brian asks, because he doesn’t know himself what he should do, too thrown off by the whole ordeal to make an intelligent decision. 

“I don’t care what we do, Brian, I just want to stop pretending that this is fake.” 

Brian gets quiet, and Jae gets quiet too, and they’re just kind of sitting there quietly together. Brian’s in nothing but his sweatpants with the stench of stale cigarettes clinging to his messy black hair, Jae’s still pantless in his hoodie, blond hair messy from Brian’s calloused hands, glasses low on the tip of his nose; he pushes them up with a shaky finger. It’s so quiet that they can hear each other’s breathing, the radiator’s quiet humming, the music that’s still playing on the lowest setting from Brian’s phone on the night table. A car passes by the motel, it’s so quiet that Brian can hear it through the wall and the door, or maybe the walls are just that thin. The tap drips in the bathroom from where Brian’s ran a towel under a warm stream of water to clean Jae up. It’s the kind of not-quiet quiet that sends chills up Brian’s spine.

“So we don’t label it, then,” Brian says after what feels like years, but it really only a few minutes of this fake silence. “I love you,” he forces, and it’s hard, but it’s true. “I can’t pretend that I don’t when I can see how much this hurts you. I’ve loved you since we were kids, Jae.” 

Jae tells Brian that he loves him too. 

“I’ve always kind of hated this,” Brian tells him, “Not that I didn’t like doing what we did or anything. I just never liked not being able to hold your hand because our relationship didn’t call for it. I knew that we weren’t friends, but we weren’t lovers either, and you know me, I don’t like commitment. I-- it just sucked because I knew that the whole thing was wrong but I couldn’t  _ stop _ .” 

“It’s whatever,” Jae says, but it’s not  _ whatever _ and the both of them know that damn well. “We don’t have to rush into anything. We’re not changing. Our dynamic isn’t changing. We’ll still kiss. We’ll still have sex if that’s what you want. We’ll still cause trouble and waste too much money of coffee and burgers and Chipotle, none of that is going to stop or change. I don’t mind easing into more of anything else if it’s what makes you comfortable. It’s not just about you or me, it’s about both of us, consecutively. I think that’s what we were missing before.”

“Thank you,” Brian says, and he knows that the weight of his meaning is more than just a simple thank you but it’s all that he can manage while his head is still so hazy. “Can I kiss you?” Jae gives a little nod of approval before Brian turns on the bed and pulls Jae into his lap by his thighs, Jae’s bony fingers gripping lightly onto Brian’s bare shoulders as they meet in a gentle kiss. They kiss for hours, or until it’s nearly two and they're too tired to do anything but peck each other. 

They fall asleep with their limbs tangled, fingers intertwined, and as Brian is close to dozing off, he can hear Jae’s soft snores. He thinks that forever will never be enough.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [twt](http://twitter.com/hfkyounghyun)


End file.
